Broken Doll
by Computerfreak101
Summary: Bakura reflects on his relationship with Ryou while shuffling his deck. When his musings lead him to enter Ryou's soul room for the first time, he realizes Ryou is far more broken than he ever thought possible.


CF101: Hello everybody! I was bored, so I made this. I know, how can I write this when I have chapters months over due? (sweat drops) Well, when a girl's got inspiration she has to write it down. Now if only I can get that inspiration for my other stuff…(double sweat drop) Well I hope you enjoy, and warning, this may be a little disturbing. I think it is. Hence the rating. Enjoy!

I own nothing and no one.

**O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.**

The night, like any other, was dark. A pitch-blackness seemed to seep under the doors and through the windows, covering all light with its giant hand. The darkness watched everything, and the moon watched the darkness. A glowing silver sphere in the starless sky that bathed the street in its luminescence, and made sure its companion didn't take over completely. After all, there were some who didn't like the dark.

But he wasn't those people. He embraced the darkness, lived in the darkness of his soul; he _was_ the darkness. Yet here he was, outside on the roof of the small house, immersed in the silver rays of light cast from the sky. It seemed to make his wild silver hair glow, and threw his dark coat into blinding contrast. He sat on the roof's shingles, shuffling a deck of cards with slender fingered hands, hands that could pick pockets and steal priceless jewels with ease.

Bakura let out a small, bored sigh as he shuffled his cards in the same fluid motion he had been practicing for the past hour. The small escape of breath and the soft rustling of card on card were the only sounds to break the still winter air. Bakura hated the cold, but he had needed some fresh air. It had suddenly felt…unbearably small and stuffy in Ryou's small flat.

Abruptly he stopped moving his cards and stared at the deck, the dark cover of the top card staring up at him. Grabbing the card, he flipped it over, looking into the eyes of one of his most valuable monsters. A creature with blue skin and bronze armor. Her head was bald, and she stood against a fiery background. And in her arms, the creature held a broken doll, its hollow, empty eyes staring into Bakura's red brown ones. He felt the ends of his lips twitch upward as he thought of the duels he and this monster had been through. Especially in Battle City, this card had been his trademark. Just like the Dark Magician was the pharaoh's and the Change of Heart was…Ryou's…

As the thought entered his mind, Dark Necrophia changed. Bakura's eyes widened in shock as he saw himself adorned in the armor, staring into Bakura's eyes with a solemn look. And in his arms, Bakura held Ryou. The boy's limbs were like a puppet's, hanging limply at his sides. His hair was a dull white and the dark fabric he was clothed in was ripped in many places and seemed to be blowing in a wind only he could feel. And Ryou's eyes…they were glazed over, a dull mud brown, and were boring their way into Bakura's own eyes with a haunted (and dare he say accusing?) look. Ryou's skin and hair were stained red.

Bloodstained.

And as quickly as the image came, it passed. Shaken, Bakura stared at the card for a long time, watching to see if it would change again. While he sat there in the silent darkness, his thoughts wandered to his hikari.

Ryou Bakura…his host, his vessel, the boy he manipulated and controlled to get to the pharaoh and steal the Millennium Items. He was given to Ryou by the hands of his father, and had since made the teen's life a living nightmare that even the most fantastic of minds could not possibly imagine. He had hurt him, and hurt his friends. Had nearly killed both on numerous occasions, feeling only anger when he fell short of his goal, yet again.

Ryou tried to stop him. He tried to prevent him from taking control of his body, tried to stop him from hurting his friends. He remembered his duel against Yami in Duelist Kingdom…their first duel in over five thousand years. He had it…the victory was his to claim, playing the Change of Heart and taking control of little Yugi…his attacks would send his friends' souls to the graveyard, and Yami's life points would drop, leaving his Millennium Puzzle free for the taking. But as the Change of Heart Ryou had taken over his only other monster, disobeying his orders and ordering Yugi to attack. Then the pharaoh had used his magic so that it was Bakura attacked, and Ryou had been spared. He snorted. If any good had come out of Pegasus' tournament, it was that he had obtained the Millennium Eye. The item was resting in his coat pocket, he never went anywhere without it, even though it was useless to him. For it to obey him, Bakura would have to install it in his eye, in _Ryou's_ eye. For good. Once again, he would use the boy's body as his own, with no regret or remorse. He would attack, carry out his plans through Ryou…

…Just like Dark Necrophia used her doll for her attacks. Controlling it, calling its power, she would attack her enemy, doing nothing and everything herself. Like him and Ryou. Bakura now understood the image he had seen earlier. He was Dark Necrophia, staring down his opponents with cold, gripping ferocity, when in reality it was Ryou, his doll that attacked everyone. Whether the doll did it willingly or not was not important. Right?

Right. Ryou was his landlord. His body was Bakura's most useful and vital tool on his quest. Ryou's body was Bakura's weapon, Ryou's mind was Bakura's sanctuary when he needed to rest and think. Ryou was Bakura's shield, for the pharaoh would dare not attack him if it meant hurting Ryou. As he had shown in Battle City. Once again, victory was assured when Bakura threw back control to Ryou, leaving the injured and sick boy to face Slifer's wrath. Yami had hesitated, and Kaiba's goon had yelled at him to make a move lest forfeit the duel.

And Bakura had started to worry. True, Ryou was Yugi's friend…but the pharaoh had Malik to worry about, he had to win to stop Malik. What would happen if he decided his duty was more important than his friendship and attacked? In his present state, Ryou was not strong enough, not _nearly_ strong enough, to take the attack of an Egyptian God head on. The damage he would suffer could destroy him. Bakura couldn't let that happen, couldn't afford to take the risk. He had taken back control, yelling at Yami to attack. He attacked. And Bakura lost again. His hand curled into a fist at the memory.

Dark Necrophia had been Bakura's key monster in that duel; it was only through her sacrifice that he could summon Dark Sanctuary. He had needed her, and he needed Ryou. As a haven, a weapon, a shield, or a vessel, the point was that Bakura could not begin to hope that his plans would succeed without the boy. Ryou was his doll…his bloodstained, broken doll, looking at the world through blank, possessed eyes.

Bakura blinked as the silver light of the moon turned golden and lifted his gaze from the card. Caught in his musings, he had not realized spent the entire night on Ryou's roof. Blinking, he placed Dark Necrophia and her doll back on top of the deck and placed it in his pocket. Jumping down nimbly and landing with cat like grace, Bakura looked at the slowly lightening sky with disdain before returning inside of the house, upstairs to Ryou's room. Sliding the boy's body into bed, Bakura gave him control back, retreating to the confines of Ryou's mind, where he was sleeping peacefully. It seemed that was the only time when he _was_ peaceful, when he slept, Bakura thought as he walked down the dark hallway that divided their two minds, walking to his side. But for the first time, Bakura's hand hesitated over the handle of his doorway, and his head turned to look at Ryou's side. It was a wooden door, like you would find on an old closet, and the wood was glossy and reflected Bakura's face as he walked up to it. Spotless. Bakura smirked. Just like Ryou, he always was a neat freak.

Before he could change his mind, or even think about what he was doing, his hand shot out, grabbed the brass handle and turned, the door swinging inward, baring Ryou's mind to Bakura.

His jaw dropped. The walls in Ryou's soul room were white, but smudged with so much dirt it looked pale gray. The hardwood floor was dusty, and was scattered with broken toys, photographs in dirty frames, and pictures that looked like they were drawn by a child, stick figures and all. They showed, in every one, a little boy standing in front of three people, whose faces were all scribbled out. The boy was crying. Slashed paintings were on the wall and a wall length mirror stood on the wall opposite, adorned with a beautiful silver frame engraved with cherubs. The mirror was shattered, showing objects in the room a thousand times. Stunned, Bakura crossed the room, leaving footprints in the dust to stand before a bed. It was the only thing that was not slashed or broken in the room, the mother of pearl hangings standing out like a beacon of heaven in the darkest pits of hell. With hands he barely noticed were shaking, Bakura pulled back the curtain cautiously to view his sleeping hikari.

Ryou was sleeping, but not peacefully. A frown graced his porcelain features and he was tossing and turning, muttering incomprehensible and incomplete sentences. Pleas for help that would not come, begs to stop a pain that would never leave, whispers of his sister's name. His back was to Bakura, and the yami noticed his nightshirt was torn and dirty, and sweat glistened on the boy's sleeveless arm. With a cry of unseen pain, Ryou whipped around to face Bakura, his face twisted into anguish, facing a nightmare only he could see, only he could feel. He was sweating and now muttered faster, sounding feverish. Shocked, Bakura's eyes roamed Ryou's body, taking in every detail and noticing for the first time how terribly thin the boy was. Then he saw something in Ryou's arms that made his breath catch in his chest.

He was holding a rag doll, which like everything in the room was dirty, and the arm seemed to be slashed. It was dressed in a gray robe with a horrible red stain, but it was the face that shocked Bakura. Narrow red eyes, lips curved into a wicked and mocking smirk, all framed by locks of silver hair. Bakura stared at the doll which looked so much like himself as Ryou held it tighter, like it was his only lifeline, his only tie to reality, to sanity, to salvation. He couldn't stop shaking, or was that Bakura? Backing up, eyes still locked with the doll's, Bakura left the room, closing the door a little more forcefully then he had intended. Shaken at his first true insight into Ryou's mind, Bakura crossed the hallway to his own door, grabbing the handle.

"It's seems my little hikari is more broken than I originally thought," he muttered, opening the door and disappearing into the darkness of his own mind. "Interesting."

**O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.**

CF101: (shivers) Ooh, poor Ryou…see what's happened to his mind since Bakura's arrival? Even now I really don't know where I conjured those images. Ah well, Ryou's not as innocent as he looks; he's got demons even Bakura doesn't know about.

(grabs megaphone) REVIEW PLEASE, LEST YOU SUFFER MY FLAMING SPOKS OF DOOM. THAT IS ALL.


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